


Ann and Silk

by SkyGiantz



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anger isuues, Explicit Language, Gen, Luffy is Luffy, Nami is a Thief, everyone's in high school, modern day New York City
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-10-05 23:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10319495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyGiantz/pseuds/SkyGiantz
Summary: "Let's take this somewhere else, hmm?" her warm breath tickling his ear. She smirks at the way his eyes light up. He thinks he's getting lucky. She thinks he's stupid leaving his wallet open like that.





	1. Chapter 1

He's eyeing her like a piece of meat. Then again, they all are. Looking like she does, in her older sister Nojiko's, two-sizes too tight black cocktail dress she almost can't blame them. Almost. Unfortunately, she's used to the staring. Doesn't mean she likes it of course (because she doesn't, but if she thinks too hard about the old man across the bar licking his lips at her, she won't be able to finish her job tonight). Besides, she's nearly perfected the _Don't Fuck With Me_ stare. She decidedly shoots one to grandpa, who thankfully takes the hint and looks away. She grins. Practice makes perfect.

The hopeful staring her down from across the bar has a haircut that reminds her of a magazine model, and a jawline that makes her believe he's used to getting what he wants. He's sporting dark denim deans and an all-black leather jacket. It's strange, she thinks. That a knockout with money like him even bothers with this run of the mill bar like this. Surely, he would fit in better at a nicer bar only a few streets over. Maybe he's a tourist, her mind supplies. The kind who doesn't know the ins and outs of the city it seems. He rolls up his sleeves a moment later displaying a lovely silver watch. Armani maybe? It's difficult to distinguish so far away. She decidedly figures the 'why' doesn't matter so long as it's real.

As it is, Nami just sighs. He'll do.

She brushes her fingers through her long red hair and casually pulls down the neck line of her dress exposing some of her better assets before she turns around meeting his gaze. He smiles in a way that makes her skin crawl and holds up his beer in suggestion. She looks around for a second and shrugs before turning away. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome is Hot with a capital H. He's probably used to girls throwing themselves at him; both fawning and fighting over him. Maybe her logic is a bit simplified, but that's exactly what she decides not to do.

So, she ignores him. And it works like a charm, because not moments later he's approaching her from behind. She mentally thanks herself for reading that Intro to Psychology textbook last summer. Her favorite chapter was the one about behavioral psychology. She can still picture the way Nojiko rolled her eyes at her fondly saying, " _God Nami, reading during summer vacation, you're such a nerd"_ and ruffled her hair. She smiles softly at the memory.

"Can I buy you a drink?" the voice sounds from behind her. His voice is deep and husky- something most girls find attractive. Too bad she's not most girls.

She goes to give him her _is that the best you can come up with_ look. It's not as good as her _Don't Fuck With Me_ look which is capitalized and used so often she should probably consider putting a trademark on it. But honestly that pickup line- dare she even consider it one- was just downright degrading. She's had a man literally serenade her before. Granted, he was an older man and thought her name was Caroline which, yeah. Not her best idea, but how was she to know he was a performer AND a Neil Diamond fan. So, not her fault.

But she turns and—holy shit is he tall! She could tell he was from across the bar, but it's another thing entirely to have someone literally staring down at you. A basketball player her mind instantly thinks. Or at least he should've been with what the height advantage thing he has going on. She idly finds herself distracted, wondering exactly how tall he actually is, but stops because really it makes no difference. She just feels so tiny next to him. Granted, she's not wearing heels, but she's still a solid 5'6" meaning he's practically a giant. She lets out a long breath like she's considering and pretends that it doesn't bother her.

"I like tequila" is all she responds with before starting toward the bar, but not before seeing a wolfish grin spread across his face. He follows after her, and she can actually feel his eyes appreciating her backside. She smirks, because he probably thinks he's being subtle. Then again maybe not. Guys like him don't really need subtle. So, she actually smiles to herself, because the ignorant ones where always the most fun, and swings her hips to the music.

"Two shots of Patron" he calls out to the bartender taking his old seat at the bar. She slides up next to him and watches him pull out his credit card while setting his wallet on the counter, and she smiles at him, because Patron is expensive and she's supposed to be impressed.

She's much closer now, and even though the lighting in here is complete shit, she can tell his features really are attractive. His rugged eyebrows and deep brown eyes in particular are striking, as well as his slight scruff from not shaving. And it makes her mad suddenly, because while this certainly isn't the worst part of town (no, she lives there) it's certainly not the classy upper east side, where a guy with money and good looks should be, meaning that he's just here for a quickie. A quick shag with a girl who probably thinks she hit the jackpot before kicking her the curb when he's finished. Heh, he probably thinks he's doing charity work, and if that doesn't hit home real hard, because Nami is no one's fucking charity.

The man behind the bar makes a gesture for her I.D. so she smoothly unclips her clutch (which is also Nojiko's) and places the one she fenced from that poor unsuspecting tourist yesterday into his hand. Her name is Ann Elizabeth Fischer. She's 22 years old, with red hair, brown eyes and from California. The man merely glances at it and hands it back to her a moment later along with her drink. She only smiles.

"Ann" she says holding her shot glass up in cheers.

"John" he replies tapping her glass, and she nods her head acting like she didn't just read the name Johnathan Palazzi on his credit card.

It goes down like water for her, and it's about four shots later that she decides she's tired of giggling at things that aren't really funny and hearing him prattle on about that modeling job in L.A. he just flew back from. She'd gotten hardly any words in the entire night (not that she would answer any questions truthfully) but it's obvious the guy only cares about himself.

She grips his arm and pulls him closer.

"Let's take this somewhere else, hmm?" her warm breath tickling his ear. She smirks at the way his eyes light up. He thinks he's getting lucky. She thinks he's stupid leaving his wallet open like that.

He goes to stand and only stumbles a little which Nami knows means buzzed but not drunk. But he's also laughing loudly-at what she doesn't know, and makes a very obvious grab for her ass. So maybe more drunk after all. She skirts out of the way before hand meets ass pretending to stumble and almost fall. If people think she's a lightweight, that's not her problem, but she could probably out drink every man in this bar. He smiles at how wasted she appears, and she smiles back because he's an idiot. He turns to leave but not before pulling out his wallet and giving the bartender a generous number of bills as tip, leaving Nami to fume in righteous indignation. That's _her_ money, thank you. She grabs hold of his arm and digs her nails a little harder than necessary, and makes sure to pay extra attention to which pocket he puts his wallet back in.

It turns out he's actually one of the few who dares to drive in Queens, so they're in his Lexus. It's black, because why wouldn't it be, and the door is barely closed before he's eating her face and rubbing his hands up and down her thighs. So, she sits there and lets him, because that's what she's supposed to do. And if while his hands are busy with her legs she manages to unlatch his watch- well who's to know?

After about another 20 seconds later, she's had enough of this slobberfest, and pushes him away. His breath reeks like alcohol, and he's getting too handsy for her liking. Besides, she has what she came for and needs to get home before Nojiko does. He looks genuinely confused for a moment, before she demands

"Close your eyes."

Sometimes she's feels bad about what she does. Sometimes the men that she meets are genuinely nice guys. They ask her all sorts of questions and seem genuinely interested in what she has to say. She bets they would probably be gentle too, if you know, she ever went home with them. Not that she ever would. Not again. Hell, she once had an old man invite her for dinner. No strings attached. She was suspicious, but she could never afford the place he was offering to take her on her own, so she relented. As it turned out the guy was just lonely and wanted someone to talk too. Didn't help he was dying of AIDS. She went home empty handed that night, and wouldn't leave her room for another two days, telling Nojiko she was sick. It wasn't even a lie.

Tonight however, was not one of those times.

When he doesn't listen to her, she leans in real close and walks her fingers slowly down his chest, to his stomach until-

"Close. Your. Eyes." She whispers again blowing into his ear.

He closes his eyes and is grinning from ear to ear.

"You bad girl" he teases.

"Heh, you have no idea." She smirks. "Wait here." She says before clicking her clutch shut and opening the door. The light goes on in the car, and it's only a moment later before model-hair John opens his eyes again, but by then she's gone.

 

* * *

 

You'd think living in New York City for your whole life would mean you understood how freaking inappropriate a strapless cocktail dress was for the middle of January. But because Nami could pick your pockets before 'hello' but not remember to bring a jacket, the answer to that would be very. If she made any good choice today it would be not wearing the heels she originally tried on. Not that she doesn't know how to run in heels, because she does. She's had plenty of experience with it too. But no, it's because it's icy as hell and even her wedges are making her slide all over the place.

She shrinks in in out of alleyways watching as the housing becomes worse, running mostly on adrenaline. It isn't until she's several streets over behind a row of trash cans that she stops to catch her breath. She rubs her hands up and down her arms, because the adrenaline is wearing off, and did she mention strapless? She's breathing heavy, but paranoia gets the best of her so she sucks in a deep breath, counts to ten, and listens. There's the hum of electricity and sirens in the distance, but no footsteps following her. Besides, even if Mr. Hottie _could_ run, he'd never be able to catch her. Satisfied by the thought she exhales slowly. Carefully, because her hands are shaking, (from the cold, obviously) she unclips her clutch and pulls out her trophies.

It's too dark too see anything clearly, but she grasps the wallet first and strains her eyes to count the cash. After counting it once, and then again, she sighs. It comes out to be $105—not counting the change. She shoves the bills back into her clutch, and without even looking at what else is hidden in the folds, she tosses it into the nearest bin. Nojiko taught her that- you always throw away the cards in case some asshole tries to find you. Better to just toss the whole wallet and be done with it. Besides, Nami really hates people who keep souvenirs. Like a fucking tourist or something.

A second later she takes out a key as well, and throws that in the trash too. Grinning, she brushes off her hands. The idiot never saw it coming. She considers feeling bad. That maybe she went a bit too far this time, but shrugs because oh well, if he can't walk straight he certainly can't drive straight. Really, she's just doing a public service.

Finally, she picks up the watch. She can't see it- it's way too dark for that-but she feels it. Gently, she rubs her thumb along the face of it, and allows herself a moment of smugness. She'll swing by Bug's in the morning before school to pawn it off. If it's real (and even in that dim bar lighting it looked like it was) they'll have enough money to cover the rent this month and then Nojiko won't have to keep picking up stupid graveyard shifts.

Nami loves her sister. She really does. But sometimes Nojiko forgets that because she's 19, and two years older doesn't make her an adult. And no, Nami doesn't mean that in the _you're not my mother let me do what I want_ way. God, she wishes it were like that. But instead means it in that _you shouldn't have to work yourself to death and work two jobs because of me_ way. Especially when Nami is so good at what she does. And will gladly do it too, if it keeps her sister away from all the self-sacrificing bullshit she preaches.

She makes it back to their apartment about 10 minutes later. A feat which would have taken 30 minutes if she were anyone else, but things like fences and railings are hardly an issue for her. Their apartment is on the second story, so she pulls on the fire escape hoisting herself up, where she climbs until she reaches her unlocked window. She slinks in, grateful to finally be out of the cold and snaps the lock shut. Her desk lamp is still on and the door is still closed, meaning Nojiko isn't home yet. She releases the breath she was holding, relieved. Checking her cellphone, the time reads 1:41. That means Nojiko won't be home for another 35 minutes at least. That, and she'll be taking her English test about the book she didn't finish reading with approximately four hours of sleep. Well, shit. Stupid Charles Dickens, with his stupid _Great Expectations_. Whatever. Not like she can do much about it now.

She checks the living room couch anyways, and when there's no Nojiko, checks to make sure the front door is still locked. Satisfied that it is, she goes back to her room before finally stripping out of her dress, and god, does it feel nice no longer having cheap polyester glued to her skin. Seriously, her sister could look stunning in just about anything, yet she chooses that monstrosity. She then snuggles into her oldest, albeit comfiest sweatshirt, before carefully hanging the dress, and returning it to Nojiko's side of the closet. She hides the money and watch under the mattress before also returning the clutch, and shoes.

She's cold; all the way down to her bones, and she would love nothing more than to sink into sleepless oblivion. But she can still taste alcohol on her lips, and his saliva in her mouth, and his hands—

She runs to the bathroom, throwing off her sweatshirt and shedding her bra and panties before jumping in the shower with her toothbrush and the entire tube of toothpaste. She remembers to lock the door because she always remembers, and leaves the water on scalding brushing her teeth once, twice, and then three times before finally feeling like her tongue is clean. And while the water is several degrees past 'hot' she lets it run down her back until she finally, finally stops shivering (shaking). It's only the thought that Nojiko is probably on her way home by now does she reluctantly turn the water off. She towels off with the fluffiest towel she has (which is only slightly less scratchy feeling than the other ones) and throws it in the hamper along with her other clothes. She smiles grimly because she can almost hear Nojiko's exasperation when telling her, _this towel isn't dirty yet Nami. Stop putting it in the hamper._ But Nojiko, who uses her towels two, even three times _doesn't understand_.

She pulls on another sweatshirt, and some raggy old sweatpants this time, before finally sinking into her bed, letting the mountain of blankets consume her. She's dozing off when she hears the front door open and close. It's creaky, loud, and reassuring all at once. And even though Nojiko treads quietly- because she's considerate like that- that doesn't stop the kitchen light from bleeding in through the crack under her door.

The lingering tension in her shoulders fades away, and she's asleep seconds later.

Hearing Nojiko really shouldn't be such a relief.


	2. Chapter 2

“Dammit Bug!” Nami yells, pounding on the door. “Open up. I know you’re in there.” She shoves her freezing hands in her thin coat pockets. Stupid New York and its stupid weather.

She taps her foot and counts impatiently.

One Mississippi.

Two Mississippi.

Three Mississippi.

“Bug! Answer the door already. I know you can—”

The door cracks open slightly.

“What the hell do you want girl?” The man behind the door scowls at her.

She flashes the watch from inside her coat, smiling brightly. He slams the door in her face.   _How chivalrous_ she thinks, rolling her eyes. It takes another minute before she can hear the chain rattling and unlocking.

“Get in” he snaps at her, reopening the door a moment later.

She pushes past him. “Good morning to you too” she drawls sarcastically.

 She takes her hands from her pocket and blows on them. “God, Bug. Too cheap to turn up the heat? It’s hardly warmer in here than out there.” she motions toward the door.

“Shut up.” The man snaps. “Were not open yet.”

“Obviously” Nami rolls her eyes. It’s been a while since her last visit. She cranes her neck, eyes roaming the room and lets out a low whistle. “Your decorator has done an excellent job with the place.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“No, I’m serious!” she places a mock hand over her heart. “Whoever they are did a fantastic job. Really captured the whole ‘packrat’ look.” She twirls her hair innocently. “I mean, that’s what you were going for, right?”

He stops suddenly and spins around. “Shut the fuck up, thief. Or you can go fence your goods somewhere else.” He scowls at her, blue lips turning up in disgust. The thing about Bug she muses, is he tries so hard to look dangerous and mean, but when you wear blue lipstick and matching nail polish, it’s hard to ever be considered anything worse than annoying.

She makes a confused face. “Sorry, did I say packrat? Cause I meant Rat Pack. You know, like Sinatra and them.”

He gives her a look.

“Right, right” she waves her hand absently. “Lead the way.”

She follows him into the back, where she’s met with dozens of fake purses and mounds of tarnished jewelry. Looks like he hasn’t cleaned up any since her last visit. She makes a face, but says nothing. 

“Alright, let’s see what you got” he makes a grabbing motion at her.

“It’s Armani.” She states, gently taking the watch from her inside pocket. “Retail price, $299.”

“ _I’ll_ be the judge of that.” He sneers, grabbing it from her.

“Right, okay, whatever.” Nami rolls her eyes at him.  He’s a lot of theatrics, Bug, but she appreciates his crass personality. She almost finds it refreshing, really. The fact that he has no concept of what’s socially acceptable. No manners, politeness or pretending to care.  She wonders what that must be like. It sounds freeing, she thinks.  

“$130.” He sets the watch down looking up.

She barks a laugh. Yeah, right. “$190” she retaliates.

“$145” he says, eyes narrowing.

She inspects her ruby red nails; all perfectly long and filed. Leftover from last night. She picks at the paint, resolving to take it off when she gets home. “$175. Final offer.” There’s a red splotch of paint on the side of her thumb where she messed up. She scowls at it.

“$160, or you can leave.”

“Fine.” Nami shrugs. “But I want that.”  She points to the mound of unsellable goods scattered along the back wall. Like the ‘Island of Misfit Toys’ only with jewlry and antiques. She saunters over and snatches a rustic bracelet from the top of the pile. “This one. Here.” She slips it around her wrist and waves it around carelessly. She’s only doing it to annoy him, and can’t hide her grin when she sees that it’s working.

“Hey! Get that off, now!” Bug yells at her.

“Or what?” she taunts. “It’s not like it works anyways.” And it’s true. It looked like some sort of old compass, but the needle keeps swaying back and forward.

He grabs her wrist. “Lemme see.” She counts to three before pulling her hand back.

“Geez Bug, you have quite a way with the ladies, don’t you?” She says, casually wiping her wrist on her jeans.

“I wouldn’t know, considering I don’t deal with ladies. Only egocentric thieves.”

“Ouch. You almost hurt me there. But nice touch with the big word. Now give me my money so I can go.” Nami smirks, making grabbing motions at him. 

He gives her one of his shit-eating grins.

“Alright sweetheart, here ya go.” He reaches for his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. Nami eyes it with disdain. You can’t pick the pocket of someone who’s expecting it.

 He watches her eye his wallet and smirks at her giving a shrill laugh. “Like what you see, eh?”

She flips him off, only making him laugh louder. “Come on.” She motions for him to hurry the fuck up.

“Fine.” He shrugs, shoving the money at her. “Now leave.”

She counts the money and—

 “The hell? Is this some kind of joke?”

“Hmm?” he looks up at her lazily. “I’m hardly a joking man, sweetheart.”

“The fuck you are! Give me the rest of my money.” Nami demands. “You shorted me $60.”

“Did I?” He puts a blue fingernail to his lip. “I don’t remember. Oh well.”

“Fine, whatever, just give me the fucking watch back. I’ll go somewhere else.” She looks around, but doesn’t see it. “What the—Where did you?”

He taps his breast pocket. “Sorry, sweetheart. Would have loved giving you the full amount, but ‘fraid I’m all out of money. I’m sure you can manage” He still has that shit-eating grin on his face, and damn him if he thinks she’s just going to walk away now.

“Palm it over, Bug. No deal.” She reaches for his breast pocket.

“Ah!” he scolds, slapping her hand away. “Sorry, but I’ve rather taken a liking to this watch.” His eyes focus on the bracelet adorning her wrist. “I’m sure you understand.”

She grits her teeth. “Not. Funny. This is a piece of shit and you know it.” 

“I know of no such thing. This is a valuable, ornate piece of—”

“Oh, shut _up_. You’re such a freaking liar. It doesn’t even work.”

“Pot and kettle.” He waves nonchalantly. “But my, my, sweetheart. Quite the temper you have. I’d learn to control that if I were you.”

“Fuck you.” She sneers back at him. “I’m right and you know it.”

He shrugs, pushing his long scraggly hair behind his ears. “Maybe, but were done here. Unless, you’re going to call the police on me?” He wiggles his eyebrows, baiting her.

Patronizing bastard.

“You’re an—”

“I’m a what?” he interrupts.  “An Asshole? Through and through. Thought you already knew that, sweetheart.”

She stalks up to him, jabbing a finger in his face.  “Enough with this ‘sweetheart’ shit. It’s really fucking annoying. And yeah you _are_ an asshole.”

“My apologies, luv.”

Nami seethes. She knows she should leave before she does something stupid.

“Whatever” she snaps. “I’m leaving this shithole. Say ‘hi’ to the wife and kids for me, oh, wait, you don’t have any. Never mind. Have fun being alone with your pet mothballs, freak.” She spins around and stalks away.

“Nami, girl, wait, wait. I think I have something else for you.” She hears Bug call after her.

(In hindsight, she should have kept going.)

“What?” She bites out, spinning around.  

“Here.” He says digging through his pockets. “I know I have—”

She folds her arms and taps her foot impatiently.

“Where did I—Ah! Yes. Here.” He tosses something at her. “Your milk money, sweetheart.”

Lying at her feet are several crumpled dollar bills. She picks them up, unfolding them carefully. In her hand she holds three shoddy dollars. She hears his stupid shrill laughter in the background, but all her mind can afford to think is

he threw money at her.

She _hates, go burn in hell_ people who throw money at her.

Because she may be dirt poor and steal from other people just to keep the heat on, but she is not some basket-case. Or a stripper, or prostitute, or beggar. Or _anyone_ that warrants having money thrown at them. And screw anyone who just undermine her efforts like that. (And she knows of course she’s no saint preying on oblivious tourists and arrogant men, but what else is she supposed to do?) Because she’s doing the goddamn best job she can.

“Fuck you” she screams at him. She storms over to one of the display cases out front. One of the nice ones with his actual merchandise. She takes one look at it. There’s everything from broaches to wallets to antique picture frames littered across the top. Then without thinking, she swiftly drags her arm across the top of the glass sending everything sprawling to the ground. Necklaces tangle with each other, and pairs of earrings scatter in opposite directions across the room. She hears a loud crashing sound in her wake, and hopes whatever it was, shattered. He stops laughing. It goes silent.

“Go ahead” she taunts. “Call the cops on me.”

She storms out of the place; the sound of crunching jewelry as she goes.

She’s half a mile away before she stops seething enough to think. Fuck him, she doesn’t need him anyway. She doesn’t need anyone but Nojiko.

And she _knows_ she should let go of her anger. Get over it and forget about it, but she can’t help but think of every asshole who takes joy in fucking up her life. In Nojiko’s life. And thinks, fuck them all. Like Bug. And Spiel. And Galley. And Nojiko’s cock-swizzling boss who treats her sister like shit (And if she ever hears him call Nojiko a whore again, she _will_ hit him over the head with a snow shovel no matter how much Nojiko tells her not too.) And fuck everyone who ever looked down on her like she was worth less than them. Because she’ not dammit! She’s not. And she remembers Charles Dickens and his stupid book with happy endings and thinks why not? Fuck him too. He may be dead, but it’s all his fault that she’s going to fail her English test later. Not her fault. His.

And just fuck.

She’s waiting at a crosswalk and kicks a rock, hard. It sputters and rebounds off some suits posh Italian loafers. He glares at her. And fuck him too, she thinks.

(later when she’s alone and calm enough to think clearly, she’ll admit she may have over-reacted a bit)

Whatever.

The crosswalk she’s waiting at makes her anxious. It’s at a popular intersection with one of the traffic lights that takes just short of forever to change. She taps her foot impatiently and looks around. There’s a crowd of people waiting alongside her, all either glued to their phones or listening to music. Which suddenly reminds her.

She pulls out her phone and checks the time.

She lets out a long sigh, because yeah, she’s going to miss her train and be late. Again.

Well, shit. Nojiko may actually threaten to kill her this time.

Unless…

She checks to make sure her cellphone and money are safely tucked in her inside coat pocket. Satisfied they are, she bends down and double knots her sneakers- just to be sure, and breathes deeply into her palms, warming them up.

She hates to do this in the daytime where people will see her. Watch her. But it’s the lesser of two evils here, and how’s that saying go? The bigger the city, the less people notice. Something like that.

Her leg jitters anxiously, as she watches the traffic light turn from green to yellow. No one notices, too absorbed in their phones. Finally, the traffic light turns red, and the crosswalk signal white. It makes that annoying chirping sound that she’s so desensitized to she hardly ever hears.

And then, lunging forward, Nami does what she’s always done best.

She runs.

 

 


End file.
